


Fuck Fight Club and Pretty Woman too

by cortexikid



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blowjobs, First Kiss, Fix-It, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie and Eddie are in a friends with benefits arrangement, following their own version of the rules from Fight Club and Pretty Woman, handjobs, then the rules aren’t as easy to follow anymore, they’re too dumb to realise they’re in love, until Eddie sees Richie getting hit on by a hot young actor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid
Summary: “Were you jealous?”Eddie blinked.The atmosphere in the room began to shift.Heat rushed up his neck, to his cheeks as Richie tilted his head at him, an unreadable expression on his face.“Why would I be jealous?” He asked, eyes lowered, “You’re entitled to flirt with whoever you want. It’s not like I’m your boyfriend or something. We’re just best friends who get each other off. And that...that can change whenever you want.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 247





	Fuck Fight Club and Pretty Woman too

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt I received from an anonymous ask on Tumblr:
> 
> _Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed._
> 
> It probably isn’t exactly what they had in mind, but I went a slightly different route this time. Hope they like it!
> 
> Full disclosure, I like both Fight Club and Pretty Woman. For drastically different reasons, obviously. So no real hate on them.
> 
> Also, Richie and Eddie are idiots.
> 
> Enjoy!

“You wanna fill me in on why you’ve been a grade-A asshole all night, Eddie?”

Richie was pissed. More pissed than Eddie could ever remember him being. 

And it was all his fault. 

Not that he’d admit it.

He took his time hanging up his coat, staring doggedly at it and ignoring Richie’s piercing gaze burning a hole into the side of his head. 

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Oh cut the crap, Kaspbrak, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Richie practically growled, shirking off his jacket, draping it over the couch and throwing his keys onto the coffee table instead of the key holder in the exact way he knew drove Eddie up the wall. 

Eddie did in fact know what he was talking about. His sour mood had not gone unnoticed among some of Richie’s associates the entire latter half of the evening. It hung over him like a dark cloud as he grew quiet and withdrawn, excluding when he threw more than a few barbed comments at one of the particularly obnoxious attendees. 

But Eddie was never the type to give in this early on in an argument. Well, unless it was against his ex-wife back when they were miserably married and he just gave her her way to avoid having to talk for long periods of time. With his best friend/roommate, though? He only dug his heels in deeper. Always had. Since the day they met in third grade. 

“No Richie, I don’t know,” he replied through a clenched jaw, snatching up the keys and depositing them in the little dish by the door, where they were _meant to go_ , “why don’t you enlighten me?” 

Richie stormed into the kitchen, wrenching open the fridge door roughly and pulling out a beer, twisting the cap off and angrily guzzling it. 

Eddie watched him, a spike of irritation beginning to form under his skin. 

Richie’s infuriation was infectious. 

“Don’t throw the—”

The words died in Eddie’s throat as he watched Richie fling the bottle cap towards the garbage can like he did most nights, despite nine times out of ten missing the shot by a mile. 

The cap bounced off the lid and clinked to the floor. 

Eddie saw red. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Richie! Why do you always—”

“Were you jealous?”

Eddie blinked. 

The atmosphere in the room began to shift. 

Heat rushed up his neck, to his cheeks as Richie tilted his head, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Why would I be jealous?” Eddie asked, gaze lowered as he bent down to pick up the bottle cap. “You’re entitled to flirt with whoever you want.”

Richie snorted, and even though Eddie couldn’t see his face, he knew he was rolling his eyes. 

“I wasn’t flirting with him, Eds. _He_ was flirting with me.” 

Eddie's entire body tensed as he straightened up, shuffling over to the trash can and muttering over his shoulder, “Whatever. It’s not like I’m your boyfriend or something.”

He could feel Richie’s stare piercing into the back of his head as he continued, “We...we’re just best friends who get each other off, Rich. And that...that can change whenever you want.”

A beat of silence met those words. 

Eddie refused to turn around. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He couldn't decipher anything in Richie’s voice, it sounded almost robotic, but a dart of pain shot through Eddie’s chest, right under his scar anyway as he tried to prepare himself for what he had to say next. 

“It means…” he began as evenly as he could, moving across the kitchen to get a glass, his back still turned, “if you wanna date, or...or fuck other dudes, or whatever…have at it. We’ll...we’ll stop this…” he waves a hand over his shoulder to where he estimated Richie was standing, _"arrangement_. No questions asked.”

Because if anything was obvious to Eddie after seeing him flourish tonight, it was that Richie...he deserved more. More than their little arrangement allowed. And Eddie would be damned if he held him back from that for his own selfish reasons. 

Another silence followed his words. He had to turn around sometime. He knew that. 

He managed to delay it just a little longer by walking over to the sink and turning on the faucet, resting his palms on the counter, hunching his shoulders, making no move to fill his glass. The rush of water almost drowned out Richie’s quiet reply, barely above a whisper. 

“Do _you_ wanna stop, Eddie?” 

_Hell no._

It had all begun three months earlier when Richie accidentally walked in on Eddie ‘punchin’ the upside down clown,’ as Richie so fondly called it. Their eyes had locked, Richie frozen in shock, Eddie in embarrassment. Richie could have hightailed it outta there, they could have brushed it off, marked it down as one of the hazards of being roommates and maybe, after a time, even laughed about it. Instead, Eddie had choked out Richie’s name, his cock still gripped in hand, so impossibly hard as Richie’s eyes began to lower. 

They had just watched each other, breaths ragged as Eddie’s hand began to move, slowly at first, then gradually speeding up, pumping his cock hard, over and over and over, a surge of confidence flowing in him that was fuelled by Richie drinking in his every move, until his orgasm started to rake through him, causing him to cry out and begin to come all over his stomach. 

That had lit a fire under Richie, he scrambling over to the bed and dropping to his knees, his giant hand covering Eddie’s, squeezing and moving in time with his jerks. 

“Shit, fuck— _Richie_ ,” Eddie gasped, his voice broken as they pulled the last of orgasm from him together. 

“Eds—I—can I…?”

Eddie had nodded, happy to grant him anything, whatever he could possibly want in that moment. 

Turned out, what Richie had wanted was his mouth around Eddie’s dick. 

Wildly, all Eddie could think as Richie's head lowered to his lap was how _Dick wants my dick_. 

He almost passed out when the wet heat enveloped him, hissing a little as his over-sensitive nerves tingled. 

“R-Richie, oh my god,” he wheezed, his hand reaching up and clawing at his hair, pulling it tightly through his fingers. 

Richie groaned, the vibration heading straight to Eddie’s cock and causing his back to arch off the bed. 

It was then that Eddie realised three things. 

One, the hand currently buried in Richie’s hair was covered in Eddie’s come, it smeared into his locks in a way that should have had Eddie recoiling in disgust, but instead sent a bolt of arousal through him, despite his exhaustion. Two, Richie’s mouth was ridiculously talented—the type of talented that could get a 41 year old man’s refractory period shaved significantly down— _holy shit_. Eddie may never call him a Trashmouth ever again after this. And three, Richie was rock hard. His erection pressing into Eddie’s side from where he kneeled along the bed. 

At that revelation, Eddie’s free hand had wandered almost unbeknownst to himself, out to cup Richie through his pants, causing him to jump in surprise, his mouth pulling off Eddie’s dick with a pop that had him shivering. 

They stared at one another, Eddie marvelling at Richie’s plump, crimson-stained lips that had a bead of Eddie’s come gathered in the crease of his mouth. 

A beat passed where their eyes met, they on a knife-edge, the precipice of something unknown. 

Then Eddie squeezed his hand a little tighter, causing Richie’s breath to hitch. 

And the rest...was history. 

It became a regular thing, then. Just them...tending to each other whenever they needed it. Quick hand jobs before Richie had to meet with an exec, sloppy blowjobs to celebrate Eddie’s promotion and Richie’s Netflix deal and one very memorable rim-job on the eve of Eddie’s one year ‘death-day.’ 

They hadn’t talked about it much. But they had unwritten rules. 

One — don’t talk about Fight Club. AKA The Arrangement.™ So no spilling the beans to any of the Losers. 

Two — don’t talk about Fight Club. Seriously. If the Losers found out they would be un-fucking-bearable and put a screeching halt to the most (and best) sex either of them had had in years. (Maybe ever.)

Three — no kissing. Eddie had deemed that a step over the line. Which, Richie had easily countered with, “Oh, so you can have my tongue in your ass, but not your mouth? Some logic ya got there, Eds.” But Eddie wouldn’t budge. So Pretty Woman rules it was. 

And Four — no fourth base, going all the way, the whole enchilada, whatever you wanna call it. 

They both agreed that that would definitely be over the line.

And so, with those firm set of rules alá Fight Club and Pretty Woman in play, Eddie and Richie made it work, it somehow slotting almost seamlessly into their daily lives, their friendship and cohabitation hardly changing at all. 

Until Eddie’s green-eyed monster reared its ugly head, of course. 

_Except...that isn’t exactly true, is it? You were compromised from the start, asswipe._

Eddie ignored his inner-voice that sounded irritatingly like a thirteen-year-old Trashmouth as he shoved his glass under the water, letting it fill. 

“That Eric guy seemed pretty into you,” he murmured, pivoting from the question as he shut off the faucet, “it would probably be a good idea to uh...call off The Arrangement if you wanted to call that number on your hand.” 

He turned, then. Just in time to see Richie blink in surprise. 

Yeah. Eddie had seen the exact moment the hot, young blond had reached across and playfully tugged on Richie’s hand, scrawling something onto the palm of it. It didn’t take a genius to know what. 

“Eric’s a kid,” Richie snorted as Eddie’s gaze finally met his. 

“He's 29.” 

“Exactly. He’s a _millennial_.”

“Your new fan base is made up of mostly millennials, Richie. And Gen Z’ers,” Eddie rolled his eyes, crossing the kitchen and realising in his haste that he had left his water but was too stubborn to turn back, trudging on towards the living room. 

Only to have his way blocked by the garish, tuxedo T-shirt that Richie had insisted on wearing to his press junket despite Beverly desperately pleading with him no to. In compromise, she had designed him a very sexy faux-leather jacket that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders very nicely.

Not that Eddie noticed, or anything. 

_Liar liar pants on—_

He slowly raised his gaze, eyebrows furrowing as he saw an enigmatic expression cross Richie’s face. 

“That Ron guy seemed pretty into _you._ ” 

Eddie frowned. 

“You mean Ross?” 

“Whatever,” Richie waved a hand dismissively, his attention bouncing around the room, “he was flirting up a storm with you at the bar.” 

Eddie snorted, “Ross was just being friendly, Richie. He saw that I was on my own when you were—”

“He was _flirting_ with you, Eddie. He couldn’t have been more obvious than if he shoved a rose between his teeth and asked you to tango.” 

Eddie’s lips, the traitors, twitched at that. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m pretty sure I know when someone is flirting with me, Richie.” 

“Really?” Richie scoffed, the pitch of his voice climbing as he threw up his hands in exasperation, “see, I don’t think you do, Eds. Fuck, I’ve been flirting with you since 1986 and look where—”

He cut himself off abruptly, but it was too late. 

Eddie watched as Richie froze, his eyes as wide as saucers behind his glasses. 

His heart began to race. 

“You...what? Rich—”

“Nothing, forget it,” Richie held up his hands in surrender and that’s when Eddie caught it. 

The remnants of a dark smudge. 

Eric’s phone number. 

Or what used to be his number anyway. 

Eddie’s own hands shot out before he knew what was happening, both grasping the larger hand and tugging it closer.

“Did you rub it off?” 

He kept his gaze carefully trained on Richie’s palm as he heard his breath hitch. 

“...maybe.” 

“Why?”

“Because I don’t wanna get ink poisoning—why the fuck do you think, Eddie?”

His grip tightened around Richie’s fingers as his eyes slowly lifted. 

They stared at one another, the silence ringing loud in the kitchen. 

“I…” Eddie floundered, desperately wracking his brain for some words to form a coherent sentence. 

_Don’t get your hopes up, Kaspbrak. You know how that always ends._

Richie must have taken his hesitance for a dismissal however as he heaved a heavy sigh and began pulling out of his grasp. 

“Forget it, Eds, I’m tired and a little tipsy. I’m just gonna go to—”

“I _was_ jealous.” 

Richie stilled, his eyes darting back to Eddie’s, his hand still firmly in his grip.

“You were?” 

Eddie heart hammered against his rib cage so hard he felt it might burst out of his chest Alien-style any second now. 

_What the fuck are you doing, dickwad?! This is not a part of The Arrange—_

“Yeah, Richie, I was. Am. Jealous,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, squeezing Richie’s hand tight as he forced himself to continue. “I—that guy was hot and young and I’m not and—”

Richie closed the space between them, crowding Eddie back against the kitchen counter, bending his knees to catch Eddie’s eye.

“Eddie, trust me when I say this, man. You were the hottest person in that entire bar tonight.”

Eddie let out a loud snort, refusing to meet his eye.

“Yeah righ—”

Fingers clasped his scared cheek, forcing his head up. 

His breath stuttered at the sheer sincerity in Richie’s gaze. 

“I’m serious, Eds. I could barely take my eyes off you all night. I—all I kept thinking about was getting you home and…” he trailed off, his hand breaking from Eddie’s face to drag down his neck, chest, stomach, to finally rest, feather-light on his belt. 

A bolt of arousal shot through Eddie’s abdomen. 

Along with his mouth, Richie had very, very talented hands too. 

But they were getting off track. 

Shaking his head, Eddie forced his foggy, horny brain back online, stepping around Richie and trying to catch his breath. This was important, he couldn’t get sidelined with the promise of sex. He had known that this was a long time coming, pretty much ever since they started in the first place. 

_All good things must come to an end. Literally and figuratively…_

“We need to call it off, Richie.”

He watched as Richie’s shoulders sagged, his entire body deflating like a balloon as he drained the last of his beer and shuffled across to the recycling, avoiding Eddie’s eye the entire way. 

“Okay, Eds. If that’s what you want. Consider Fight Club disbanded.” 

There was that almost robotic voice again. Completely void of emotion. So very hard to read. 

“It’s...it’s not what I want,” Eddie found himself admitting before he could think better of it, “but it’s what you need, Rich. What you deserve.”

Richie whirled around suddenly, brow furrowed, eyes shining bright.

“What I _deserve_? The fuck does that mean?” 

Eddie sighed, not wanting to have to explain himself further but knowing he had to. Shrugging, he ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to maintain eye-contact.

“You just...you deserve more than my dry hand-jobs and amateur blow-jobs, man. I—I know when we started this it was a way for us to blow off some steam but...you’re out and proud and deserve so much more than our arrangement. So much more than what I…”

He trailed off, eyes lowering. 

“I just want what’s best for you, Rich.”

_And it’s not me._

“Did it ever occur to you that I might already have what’s best for me?” 

Richie didn’t sound robotic, anymore. Now he sounded downright incredulous.

“Uh—”

“No, ‘course it didn’t,” he continued, stepping closer, ducking his head to catch Eddie’s eye, “‘cause instead of asking me, you just went ahead and decided you knew what was best for me. But you’re wrong, Eds. So fucking wrong I—I don’t even know where to begin explain—”

He cut himself off, tilting his head to the ceiling as if asking the heavens for help. Which, for Richie, was really saying something.

_Shit._

“Why were you jealous, Eds?” 

Richie’s voice was small, now. Resigned. As if fearful of his answer.

“Was it—was it that a hot, young blond was flirting with me and not you?” he asked, tilting his head back down from the ceiling and staring straight into his eyes, laser-focussed. 

“Or was it that I was flirting with a hot, young blond and not you?” 

Eddie’s heart leapt into his throat.

“I thought you weren’t flirting?” he gasped out, biting his bottom lip.

Richie let out an awful, humourless laugh, his eyes shining in a way that had Eddie’s stomach twisting painfully. 

“Okay. Okay, Eddie,” he held up his hands again, taking several steps backwards, out towards the living room, “I hear you loud and clear. Say no more,” he paused, sounding more resigned than Eddie had ever heard him, lifting his shoulder in a one-armed shrug, “‘S like you said. We’re just best friends who get each other off. That can change whenever you want. I get it. Good night.”

Eddie watched as he turned on his heel and began walking out of the room. 

“I was jealous that he was flirting with you and laughing with you and...fucking _touching_ you when that was all I wanted to do!” 

Richie stopped dead in his tracks. 

Eddie scrambled forward, his mouth running away from him, “I was so fucking pissed that some hot fucking himbo got to drape himself all over you, without a care in the world as if you were free and single because—”

The rest of his sentence lodged in his throat. 

He swallowed, taking a deep breath, staring at the hard line of Richie’s shoulders, his heart samba drumming in his chest.

_Well, you've come this far, Kaspbrak._

“Because I...I want you. All the time. Not—not just since The Arrangement. Since...shit, since I was a kid. And these last few months have given me just a taste of what life would be like if I could...if I could have you. And I...I hate that it’s just made me realise that I want more. Not just hand jobs and blow jobs here and there. I wanna...I wanna flirt with you in public, and flaunt you on my arm and...and fucking kiss you goodnight and good morning and just because I feel like it. I wanna sleep next to you and fuck you and get a fucking dog with you. I want all of it. All of you.”

A horrible, heavy silence followed his words, marred only by Eddie’s gasping breath as he fought to catch it. His heart sank lower and lower with each passing beat. He couldn’t ever remember a time that Richie had gone this long without making some kind of noise, so he did what any good risk analyst would do. He started mentally making contingency plans for how he could salvage their friendship. 

_I’ll move out immediately. Leave the group chat for a while. It’ll be awkward, but eventually we might be able to—_

“Himbo?”

Eddie gaped as Richie finally turned around, staring wide at him, a small but definite smile on his face. 

“W-What?”

Richie’s smile grew bigger. 

“You called Eric a himbo. I didn’t think you kept up with today’s slang, Eds,” he tilted his head, apparently amused as he started to close the distance between them.

“Really?” Eddie groused, staring at him, “that’s your response to everything I just said? What the fuck, Rich—”

Lips crashed into his, a large hand clutching his cheek and another squeezing his hip, propelling him backwards, colliding them both into the kitchen counter. Eddie let out a rough ‘Oomph!’ but there was no way in hell he was breaking this kiss. Whose dumb idea was it to enforce Pretty Woman rules anyway? To withhold oneself from a mouth as talented as Richie’s? That was just fucking martyrdom. 

The kiss was feverish, desperate as they clung to one another, knocking over various knick-knacks that Richie insisted on keeping on the kitchen counters, Eddie’s tongue tracing along Richie’s bottom lip, his teeth nipping just slightly. He sighed as Richie groaned, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss, his hands raking up and down Eddie’s body as if he couldn’t decide where to rest them. Eddie buried his own hands in Richie’s hair, clutching tightly, using the leverage to do a little pushing of his own, shoving him back against the kitchen table. 

Richie let himself be manhandled, stumbling backwards, almost tripping over his own feet if Eddie didn’t have a firm grip on him. The back of his legs bumped up against the table with a soft thump. Eddie’s grip left Richie’s hair to fly to his waist, tightening as he urged him up. Richie took a second to get with the program, too preoccupied with sucking on Eddie’s tongue to do much else. But eventually, he scattered the placemats and newspaper and stress-ball from off the table and he heaved himself up, arms reaching down to clasp the back of Eddie’s legs, lifting him up with him until he was kneeling, knees either side of his hips. 

The kiss broke. 

Their eyes met.

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat when he saw moisture gathered behind Richie’s glasses as he stared at Eddie like he was the greatest gift he’d ever received. 

“I’m in love with you, by the way,” Richie murmured, quietly but firmly, as if they were words he had long since lived with, “have been since I was twelve years old. In case that wasn’t clear.”

A little line formed between his eyebrows as he cleared his throat, “It’s—it’s okay, though. You don’t have to say it back or anything, I know it’s a lot and—”

“I’m in love with you too, dickwad. In case that wasn’t clear.”

They stared at one another, twin smiles gracing their faces before Richie leaned forward, capturing his lips once more. 

This kiss was softer, slower, but _god_...

Eddie could feel thirty years of emotion flowing between them, as if Richie was pouring every ounce of pining, yearning, ache and love that he had ever felt for Eddie into it. 

The burn of tears welled up behind his eyes as Richie's hands clasped his cheeks, his thumb gently tracing his scar. They eventually had to break for air, but didn't go far, their lips barely an inch apart as they heaved in breaths, until Eddie leaned forward again, pecking the tiniest of kisses against Richie’s mouth. 

_Fuck Fight Club and Pretty Woman rules._

Richie leaned up, returning the kiss that was more the pressing of smiles but still had Eddie’s stomach flipping with butterflies.

“God, Eds. I've wanted to kiss you practically my whole life.”

Eddie hummed, raking a hand through his hair and straightening his slightly askew glasses. 

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” he sighed, resting their foreheads together, “I just...I just knew that kissing you would be too much. Would make me wish too much and hope too much and—”

“Me too,” Richie nodded, bumping their heads gently, practically going cross-eyed as he fought to keep eye contact, “you were right. I wouldn’t have coped with kissing you without constantly wanting more and hating myself for it. Even though I did anyway. Always have,” he laughed a little self-deprecatingly, “but ya know, I’m used to that.” 

Eddie’s heart panged. 

“Fucking Derry.”

“Fucking Derry,” Richie agreed. 

“Dumb Eddie.”

“No,” Richie shook his head, leaning back to properly look at Eddie, “not dumb at all, Eds. We—that shithole fucked both of us up, right? All seven of us. So, don’t feel dumb about not picking up on my giant heartboner for you back in the day, alright? I...I did everything in my power to hide it ‘cause I was scared shitless. Homophobic clowns and Bowers, you know? And now...now we’re so fucking repressed I still marvel we managed to con ourselves into The Arrangement in the first place.”

Eddie snorted, silently agreeing until that snort turned into a groan, this one of discomfort as his knees gave a painful twinge.

“We’re too old to fool around on the kitchen table, Rich…” he breathed, his breath bouncing off Richie’s mouth, “my knees are fucking killing me.”

Richie huffed out a laugh, squeezing his hips and nudging him back down to the ground and shuffling to stand up himself.

“Fuck!” He hissed as his thigh roughly collided with the leg of one of the chairs, knocking it over with a clatter.

“As graceful as ever, Rich,” Eddie teased, reaching down to gently rub his palm along the back of Richie’s thigh, a small smirk spreading across his face.

“If you take me to bed, I can kiss it better. And other places too.”

Richie Tozier had never moved so fast in his entire life. And that included the time he was chased by a murderous space clown. 

They collectively collided with no less than four pieces of furniture, one novelty-sized pencil that Richie insisted on keeping in the hallway, and tripped over a copy of Bill’s new book before they made it to bed. But that just meant there was more to kiss better.

They were allowed to do that, now. Kiss and so much more.

And all because they stopped living their lives using the ‘logic’ of two dumb ‘90s movies.

* * *

More [Reddie stuff here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/works?fandom_id=34555820). Including [this fic where I explore a longer friends-with-benefits/friends-to-lovers dynamic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21786022/chapters/51984967)


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